Last month, without warning, I lost my internet connection. Since RCN used to have outages all the time I assumed that’s what it was, however, after two hours I started to get worried. I called Comcast CS. While on eternal hold I started reading the latest statement and discovered that they had been charging me $45 the last two months for not returning a router that I had received from them a month prior to the billing. So now I had two problems.

When I finally got someone they looked up my account, couldn’t understand why I was being billed, but insisted that I wasn’t actually being charged. Never mind that my bill was $90 more than it should be for two months of services. She said she would fix it and then transferred me over to tech support to fix my internet problem.

The woman from tech support was very nice. She quickly checked my connection and isolated the to somewhere in my house. I was about to ask how much it would cost me to have a service call when she asked if I had a Comcast router. I told her “yes” and she said, “I know exactly what your problem is.”

Turns out I ordered my router at the wrong time. Comcast was starting up its whole Xfinity thing and, apparently, a lot of routers ordered during that time were entered as “due to be returned” instead of “shipped out”. And since no notices were sent out no one knew about the problem until they started getting billed or, in my case, when their routers got de-authorized because they hadn’t been returned. I was the fifth customer she had helped with that problem that day. *rolls eyes*

My latest bill arrived today. I noticed there was no $45 charge this time. I also noticed there was no credit given for the previous overcharges. However, the amount due magically went down to what it should be. Makes me wonder if I would’ve received a credit, had I paid my bill on time.

While Comcast did fuck up, and this fuck up is a mere drop in the bucket compared to their other fuck ups, I will say it appears their CS isn’t outsourced. It was nice being able to talk to people about a problem and actually understand them when they gave the solution.

Yesterday morning he asks for some money so he could take the train home after work. No problem. He comes home for lunch in a DPW truck and when he leaves he takes all the bottles we’ve collected over the last couple of weeks to take back to the bottle redemption place. Again, no problem.

I’m just finishing up a workout when he arrives. He’s only there briefly so by the time I am able to get upstairs to take a shower he’s already gone. That’s when I realize my jeans have been moved and money is missing from one of the pockets.

When he returns home I ask him for the money back. He, of course, insists that he never touched the money; That I must be mistaken as to how much I had. Never mind that I had gone to the store just before I did my workout and knew exactly how much I had. So I ask him for the bottle money as Jarret’s lunch money fund was getting low. He doesn’t have it, claiming he had to use it to take the train back. WTF? We usually get at least $8 for our bottles when we turn them in so even if I hadn’t given him money for the train that morning he should’ve still had some left over.

I am amazed at the lack of respect towards me and my belongings — particularly toward my altar. It’s bad enough when Glenn just helps himself to the lighter I designated for lighting altar candles, usually leaving me with nothing to light said candles. Today, however, the preteen took it too far.

I use two “action figures” as representations of my Lord and Lady. Sure, Gundam Wing’s Duo Maxwell and Teen Titans’ Raven may at first appear to be utterly ridiculous choices but I have my reasons. Needless to say I was far from being a happy camper when I discovered Raven had been moved from her special spot and carelessly tossed into the middle of my altar. It seems the preteen had been playing with her. Her paint was peeling, she was covered in sticky dust, and I’m pretty certain he tried to melt her, too.

The preteen has obviously been grounded, but it just pisses me off so much that my family thinks it’s okay to be disrespectful like this.

Some of you may remember how a year ago Glenn accused me of flirting, and possibly having an affair, with the quad drummer from the Light Brigade. None of it actually happened, outside of Glenn’s head. But Glenn still persists and plans to beat the crap out of him when he sees him again.

So, a couple of days ago he announces that he saw me kissing said drummer at the show we did a week ago. Yes. Mr. I’m going to rip his head off not only did not do anything when (according to him) he had the perfect opportunity to do it, but sat on it for a week before telling me I was doing it. Never mind that I doubt the guy was even at the show, let alone in the Crusaders’ parking lot so that I could kiss him.

Glenn had to drive Ben to work and me to practice last night. Both of us reminded him he needed to get gas. He didn’t get it while taking Ben to work; he didn’t get it on our way down to practice, either, insisting that we had enough to get to the Sunoco along the way home.

3-1/2 blocks away from said Sunoco, Glenn is complaining that the car feels like it is dragging. I point out that I hear no noise from the brakes, or any other noise for that matter, and verbally ponder whether our gass situation could be the cause. No sooner did the words leave my lips when the car stalls.

We walk 3 blocks to the gas station to discover they only carry 1 gallon gas cans. And you must purchase them. WTF? It didn’t help that the attendant was an idiot. The gas can only holds a gallon. Why are you trying to sell me two gallons?

3 blocks back with the gas, which turns out not to be enough to get the car started. So back to the Sunoco for another gallon. Also not enough. So we proceed to do what we should’ve done in the beginning: push the car to the gas station.

The entire way, Glenn is yelling at me to keep my foot off the brake. Um, yeah. I’m helping you push the car, so how can my foot be on the brake? Neverless, Glenn continues to insist that I’m doing this and makes sure that those who help us know this ficticious fact.

By the time we reach the gas station Mr. I’m not out of shape is covered in sweat and ready to cough up a lung. Meanwhile I’m barely breaking a sweat despite putting just as much effort in while wearing a jacket, since I was on the traffic side and the jacket was more visible than the black T I had on. We fill up and head out to get Ben. We were originally 45 minutes ahead of schedule. We ended up being 45 minutes late. Of course Dumbass number 2 didn’t know why we were late because (after his “lecture” on the importance of having minutes on his phone) he left his cell home.